Poetry at Sangam

SangamHouse

 










II by Sachal Sarmast

One is a crime the other a work of virtue,
 It’s a hijaab of amorous lovers

As I played, so many moon years have passed by
playing the tambura in front of the donkeys.

The divine resides inside you,
open as many books as many as you wish

The saints they only have the divine with them,
nothing other to speak about
neither to account for

Sans the flame of love,
the world is a place of misery

In front of the Mehboob diminish yourself braised
like the kabab on a skewer

In the battlefield of love,
you will have to face the scorching hot despair of love

O Mother! the one who torments
endures the arrows lovingly like a Nawab

Sachu says the one who yearns like that,
their purdah of love unveils itself

Sachal Sarmast